Hope Immortal
by Marie Kenobi
Summary: Legolas sacrifices the single most important thing in his life to save his best friend.
1. Part 1

Title: Hope Immortal  
Author: Marie Kenobi  
Time Period: Pre-War of the Ring  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All recognizable LotR characters are the exclusive property of the great Elf himself, J.R.R.Tolkien. I am not being paid for any of this, although it would be nice. 

Notes: This was betaed, but please excuse any mistakes you might find. This is part one of two.

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Hope Immortal

Legolas couldn't remember how it happened. Couldn't remember how his ivory handled knife had appeared in his hand. Couldn't remember what had possessed him to plunge the knife into his closest friend's back…or chest, or shoulder, or stomach…and all the other accursed places he had put it. All he could remember was the single sound that had escaped from his best friend's lips: his name. Soft, plaintive, and heart-wrenchingly betrayed. The Elven prince from Mirkwood wasn't even sure how it had all started. He knew that he and Aragorn had traveled south with Halbarad and a few other Rangers to investigate a rumor of an odd happening; and he knew that on the return journey, close to home after they had split with the Rangers, he and his companion had become separated. Beyond that, however, he could not remember a single thing more until Aragorn's voice had pulled him back, stopping him from delivering what would have been the fatal blow. In utter shock and horror he had carried the injured man back to Imladris and his surrogate father and brothers. Some previously unknown strength had explained to the Elf lord and his heirs just what tragedy had befallen the younger being. He'd actually expected them to kill him, or worse in his opinion, banish him from the Elven refuge. But no such thing had happened and it was for this reason that he was now sitting upon the balcony of his usual room: the guest chamber of Estel. His eyes were riveted on the ground below, seeing but not really taking in the flurry of activity in the courtyard, except for the twins. Identical, mahoghony brown heads were bent over the same project—A project that slowly was taking the shape of a box, a crate…a coffin that would carry their little brother to his final resting place.

The words of Lord Elrond after he had seen to his youngest son were burned into Legolas' heart. As he stared at his hands, wondering when those of Legolas Greenleaf had been replaced by those of a traitor and murderer, the words came back.

"An Elven body could—possibly –survive such an…attack; an immortal heart would conqueror it. But…Estel…has neither of these."

It was only a matter of time, and perhaps, the will to live, before Aragorn breathed his last.

The prince looked up to see two pairs of eyes, reflections of each other staring into his dead ones. Elladan and Elrohir were breaking on the inside, their lungs seeming to constrict each time a breath was drawn in. Both wanted so terribly to blame someone or something for the tragedy that had befallen their small, close-knit family, but whatever or whomever it was that they would eventually choose to blame, it would not be Legolas. The younger Elf had become too much of a brother to them, his behavior too much like Estel's for them to shun the SindaLegolas, however, could not see it.

When the twins scurried off with an urgent call from their father, Legolas, too, rose to his feet and shuffled rather lifelessly out into the hall. Elladan and Elrohir bolted past and into Estel's room. When the prince arrived, he found the twins huddled close to their father, a deathly pale Aragorn being the center of their attention. Legolas would have thought him already dead if not for the slight motion of Elrond's hand caused by the rising and falling of the man's chest. Feeling himself go numb and knowing in that very instant that he would die of grief if not guilt first, Legolas backed out of the room and drifted aimlessly through the house, down the steps, and to the forest encompassing Imladris. He could not bear to think of what he would find upon his return—or rather the lack there of. In the distance a rumble of thunder shook the air, rattling the prince's heart in the process. A summer electric storm was brewing and Legolas could feel the static charging the air as he made his way to the powerful presence of the Bruinen. Blood still stained the ground here where the traitorous event had taken place, but it was what he needed to see. He felt the need to subject himself to this mental and emotional anguish as a reminder of what he had done. Growing angry in his grief he chucked a rock into the river and watched as it skipped across to the other side. "If only," were the words ground out between his teeth. "If only—"

"_If only what?"_ he thought. If only he knew what had happened? No, the past was the past and he could do nothing to change it. If only he could help? No, Lord Elrond had said an Elven body may survive the attack, but not a human's. Nothing would help. If only…if only Estel was Elven, if only he possessed an immortal heart –

"If only he possessed an immortal heart, indeed," said a strange voice.

Legolas drew his bow in a single rapid moment. "Who goes there?" he demanded.

From the tree line a figure emerged, clothed in earthly tones, attired in a simple, practical manner most associated with Rangers. The being's face was obscured within the shadows of his hood, but by his voice, Legolas easily identified him as a man. The stranger raised one imploring hand in the Elf's direction. "Do you desire to right your wrongs, Child of Illuvitar?" This last part was added with a touch of mocking.

Legolas felt warnings flare to life within his head, but thought little of them for the grief in his heart. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"'An immortal heart,'" the man quoted. "'An immortal heart could survive it.' Would you desire Aragorn, son of Arathorn, to possess an immortal heart so that he may live to see his duties through to completion?"

The Elf hesitated slightly, wondering where this was headed. At last he said, "Aye, that I would."

"Then tell me, Prince of Mirkwood, would you part with your own immortality to see this done?"

"My immortality?" Legolas was taken aback. The fact that this man knew not only who he was but also Aragorn's rightful identity barely even registered to him in the confused state his mind currently drifted in. "That's impossible. You can not take my immortality from me so freely or easily!"

"Ah, so you say. But you do not know what I know. Tell me Prince, would you sacrifice the gem of your very soul to save the one whom to you is as close as a brother? Would you?"

The Elf was stuck in what he felt was an emotional, timeless void. Give up his immortality to save Estel? Many times he had contemplated sacrificing his very life for the young human with a destiny the size of the world. But his immortality? How—?

"The decision is yours alone to make Prince. But be swift! Offers—blessings—such as this float past as easily as a leaf on the breeze, but as rarely as snow in the summer."

"I—"

Something within the Elf, a light in his heart, suddenly seemed to flicker and die. A cry of utter, complete sorrow rent the stillness of the air. Legolas knew in that instant that Estel had passed from the world. He also knew what his decision would be.

But when he turned back to the man, he found himself to be the only one in the clearing.

Panic ripped through the Elf. He couldn't ignore the offer! He turned in circles, screaming as loudly as he could around the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Yes, yes! My immortality! Yes! Please!" Lightning danced across the sky behind him. The lonely howl of wind was his only response.

* * *

With lightening still streaking freely across the sky, Legolas trudged dispiritedly back to the Last Homely House. He needed to apologize, even if only to the empty shell that was his best friend's body. He felt Aragorn should know…

The Elf prince paused, feeling strangely out of breath after having trekked through the woods and mounted the steps to the second floor. After regrouping, he stumbled wearily to Estel's room and collapsed heavily against the doorframe. Elrohir was leading their grief stricken father away from his younger brother's deathbed. Neither seemed to notice the panting Mirkwood Elf as Legolas slipped into the room, nearly brushing shoulders with them. Elladan only graced him with a cursory glance as he staggered to the open balcony. Something didn't feel right, but the Elf couldn't quite place it. The humidity of the night began to affect him in a way it never had before and he felt himself begin to perspire. His stomach churned inside him and he gripped the balcony railing with white knuckles, trying to ignore the rush of roaring noise in his sensitive ears. In his nauseous state, he didn't sense Elladan get up to leave the room.

Suddenly, everything was spinning. The prince leaned over the railing, praying he wouldn't get sick. He didn't hear the great intake of breath from the bed behind him. The sound of his name being rolled off an unexpected tongue would be his last memory of that afternoon.

Elladan turned at the gasp for air from the otherwise motionless figure on the bed. He watched the lips of his young brother form and speak the three syllables of _"Legolas" _just as the one in question toppled headfirst over the balcony, disappearing from view. With a wide-eyed look at Estel he raced to the balcony, searching for the prince. He lay flat on the ground, two stories down, with one ankle twisted unnaturally. Already Elves were appearing.

And off in the distance, lightening continued to race across the darkening sky.

* * *

Elrond had noticed changes in his two youngest charges during the past months of healing. Legolas had taken a hard fall from the balcony that night so many months ago. He had been unable to find any medical reason for why the prince had passed out and Legolas did not seem to remember the events leading up to his fall. Just like he did not seem to remember the time that led up to the brutal attack on Elrond's youngest son, Estel.

Estel…

He truly was a gift from the gods. The lord of Rivendell was beginning to think the young man held an extra special place in Illuvitar's heart. How else could they explain the miracle that occurred that night? Estel had been dead when he and Elrohir exited the room. Not only did his heart and mind as a healer tell him this, but also that of a father. Yet when he had heard Elladan's call and raced back to the room, his son's heart was once again beating within his chest. He was unconscious, yes, but with his injuries and weakness it could only be expected. Elrond had been terrified during the first few weeks that it was all some sick joke and the son of Arathorn would still be ripped away before his time came. But Estel had remained and slowly gained back strength. It had also been a fear in the healer's heart in the beginning that the human's spine had been damaged beyond repair—indeed, when Legolas first brought him back, no manner of testing could stimulate a response from the boy's limbs from the chest down. Now he was having pillow fights with his brothers again. Another day or so and Elrond would allow him out of bed since he'd first been laid there so many months ago. Aragorn was healing so rapidly: quicker than he ever had before!

Legolas on the other hand, was taking long to heal, longer than usually befitted an Elf with a broken bone. They had attributed his loss of consciousness to the lightening and static electricity that night; but that didn't explain why he still required a crutch to get around….

* * *

There were no bitter traces of betrayal when Legolas next visited the Bruinen's gentle banks. He'd come in hope of finding solitude. Instead, all he was able to find were memories. And unpleasant ones at that. The prince still was not healed, either physically, mentally, or emotionally. Even now his ankle throbbed and he was forced to take a seat.

His mending bone was not the only thing that burned with pain: he could feel it eating away at his heart, and his mind was one large station of guilt and confusion. No matter how hard he tried he could not recall what had transpired during his brief separation from Aragorn. He did, however, remember what led up to his fall over the balcony railing, although he claimed to Lord Elrond that he didn't. He still remembered, because he was still experiencing it. Even with so many months passed the feelings were still strong, still there. He had just learned to cope better and to hide it so that even Elrond the Healer would have no idea. For the prince knew what sickness was befalling him, but he also knew that the cure was the antithesis of the initial acquiring of the illness…and it was not something he could easily change.

Consumed by his thoughts, Legolas did not realize he was being watched until the newcomer cleared his throat.

"Estel!" the Elf exclaimed, surprised. "Why are you out of bed? Lord Elrond—"

"Elrond is the one who let me out…_finally_."

The human was smiling at him, all the trust that he had ever held for the Mirkwood archer still shining within his eyes. Legolas wondered how this was possible when he no longer even trusted himself.

The young man seemed to sense his friend's hesitancy, for his demeanor suddenly became solemn as well. "Legolas, I—I was hoping you could tell me what happened all those months ago. You never really came to see me while I was healing and I—well, I don't understand," he implored.

Legolas sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Strider, it—well, you see—I…I don't know. I don't know what happened all those months back. I know it was an egregious mistake, but…I'm as confused about it as everyone else is. Please forgive me, Estel. I never meant to—"

"Ssh, no, Legolas." The young man took a step closer and reached out as though to lay his hand on the Elf's shoulder, but pulled back just before contact could be made. Legolas, whose back was turned, did not see the gesture. "There is nothing to forgive, my friend—" Aragorn's voice trailed off and his eyes grew large. No sooner had he pulled his hand away than he pushed it forward again. This time an almost electric-like pulse had latched onto his hand and held him close to the Elf. Images of that day swept through his mind with the ferocity of hundreds of swarming bees. Aragorn saw the flash of the rising sun upon Legolas' twin blades and felt their skin-ripping tear as they tore into his flesh. The look on his companion's eyes had been dead, as though they didn't see what was occurring. He had been caught completely unaware; the Ranger remembered that, as well as the look of petrified recognition that had appeared when he had called out the Elf's name….

A quiet but sharp intake of breath caused Legolas to turn around. He came face to face with the very look on Aragorn's façade that haunted and would continue to haunt both his waking and sleeping hours for the rest of his guilty life.

The Elf was unsure of how to proceed. If his very presence seemed to cause the human discomfort, then no longer could he provide even touch, which at one time had been so reassuring to the Ranger.

"Aragorn. Aragorn. _Estel!_ _Be still, my friend. Be still. You are safe,_" he said at last in Elvish, hoping to break through the wall of fear that had arisen. With a start Aragorn snapped back to the present. He suddenly found that studying the ground was much easier than trying to meet Legolas' gaze. The sound of the man's boots shuffling atop river gravel was too faint for the Elf to pick up.

Which seemed odd to Legolas.

Just as odd as the fact he was healing so slowly…and his vision seemed weakened…and food and drink didn't taste nor smell as they once had…

"It must be the sickness," he thought to himself.

In the beginning he had been frightened by the changes. But seeing Strider stand before him now of his own will power, looking as he had before save for a few well-hidden bandages and scars…Legolas decided the sacrifice had been worth it. He didn't know what his future had in store for him anymore…now that he was no longer—Legolas tried not to think about that. All that mattered was that Estel would have a second chance to become the man he was destined to be.

"Legolas?"

"Yes, Strider?" he responded quickly, realizing Aragorn had been trying to get his attention for a few moments now.

"I asked if you were all right? You look faraway; you're trembling."

Indeed, Legolas was both. The longer he stayed there with the young human, the more he felt his strength seem to melt away. It was like Aragorn was absorbing it as his own. Or maybe it wasn't his strength, Legolas realized. Maybe it was the critical part of his Elven feä: his immortality. Either way, a great sense of dizziness was overcoming the Elf. He rose shakily to his feet and put some distance between them. Aragorn looked on, concern evident in his blue eyes.

"Are you going to tell Lord Elrond? Are you going to tell him how weak I am and how incomplete my memory?"

With a pained look, Strider reached out to the one being he considered his best friend. The Elf looked at the hand on his shoulder with barely concealed shock. Even after nearly killing him—

"I haven't told Father anything. Nor have I told the twins, and I will not speak a word of it to them until we both know the truth behind all that has transpired. Be not sad, Legolas. I yet live, much to the dismay of many." The Ranger smiled softly at his jest. "You faintly reek of guilt, my friend. I would not have it that way." With a squeeze, Aragorn dropped his hand from Legolas' shoulder and turned to leave. He paused in mid-step, looking back to ask, "You will be along to the house soon? There will be a celebration tonight. For me." He grinned and rolled his eyes. "Father's wish."

The blonde archer gave a small smile in return. "Aye, of course, Estel. I will return shortly."

With a nod the young man left. Legolas noticed with dismay and a slight hint of dread as he sank back to his seat that Estel's boots, clumsy as they were being a man's possession, had left no visible indentations. The simple soles of his own boots, however, riddled the river's banks.

* * *

It was time for a hunt.

Estel's wounds were gone, the scars showing early signs of fading. Legolas' ankle had healed and his symptoms were less apparent. They were as eager as the twins to be up and out of Rivendell for a few days and the trees bore their dying but vibrant leaves with pride. Legolas had always loved his home during the fall for the multitude of colors it presented, but for now the prince would have to be content with where he was.

The company of four set out in the early morning, their saddlebags packed minimally with emergency supplies and two small meals worth of food. Legolas sat astride the stallion he always rode while in Imladris, a fiery red chestnut that rather clashed with the prince's blonde hair. He rode with his feet hanging out of the stirrups, the metal bars occasionally bumping against his boots. The act did not go unnoticed by Aragorn, whom reined in his mount until the Elf could catch up. He asked the question of 'Why?' with his eyes.

"My ankle is still tender," he explained somewhat sheepishly, swiveling his toes in small circles. Aragorn simply smiled and trotted on ahead. Legolas had not ridden in over half a year and his horse, Daenár, in more time than that, but he would trust the Elf's judgment on the matter. Unfortunately, his judgment would prove to be mistaken. Barely had they made it beyond Rivendell when the twins called for a canter across the sloping plains stretched out before them. All was well until Daenár gave a mighty, spirited buck. The act was done good-naturedly so that he might inform his rider of his pent-up energy and normally such a thing would barely have stirred the prince's golden hair that flew freely in the breeze. But this time was different. Things known only to Legolas had changed and before he could hope to find his center and balance again, he was unseated and laying on the ground, staring up at the sky. His companions returned to him quickly and the excuse was swiftly passed off that Legolas was rusty and his horse a coiled spring. The prince remounted and they continued on their way.

Until again, it happened.

By this time the twins had grown lax enough that their own stirrups hung empty as well. Even Aragorn's feet dangled freely as they sauntered along a trail deep in the forest. The need arose for the company's horses to leap lightly over a small, downed log blocking the path. A simple enough feat for all it seemed…until Legolas' turn arose.

The Mirkwood Elf replaced his feet in the stirrups prior to his horse lifting off. All went well until Daenár returned to the ground. Upon first contact of the ground by his mount's forefeet, Legolas felt his previously injured ankle give way slightly and he scrambled for balance and purchase with his legs and seat that were not there to be found. The Elf dropped to the ground, watching as the stallion's hind legs came out of flight. He winced prematurely, covering his face and rolling onto his side. For his part, Daenár did his best to avoid hitting his downed rider—as all horses are want to do—but some things are just meant to be. One hind hoof nicked the prince squarely in the back. Once landed, he turned to sniff the prone Elf, wondering how it was that his normally graceful rider was now grounded…again.

The three sons of Elrond reined their horses back in the direction they'd come. They could hear someone struggling for breath and were surprised to find Legolas' horse rider-less once more. Elrohir was the first to find his voice as Legolas' breathing slowly settled out.

"For the love of Eärendil—Legolas, what are you? An Elven prince more than two and a half millennia old? Or a human child no older than Estel learning to ride without the support of his stirrups?"

The two twins laughed at this, not seeing the red flush of embarrassment creep onto the archer's face. He smiled for acting's sake, but the smile did not touch his eyes. Nor did his eyes meet the worried gaze of Estel.

"Legolas—" the human tried to say.

The Elf cut him off somewhat abruptly. "I am fine, Estel. You need not worry." Rising carefully to his feet he tested his ankle. The pain had diminished and seemed no worse for the wear. He flashed a smile at his close friend, once more amazed that _anyone_ could forgive such a grievous act as easily and quickly as Estel had.

Reassured, but still slightly worried, Aragorn passed his mount's reins on to Legolas and mounted the red chestnut. At Legolas' raised eyebrow he grinned. "I want to see what you find so endearing in this monster of a beast, you prissy Elf."

Playing along, Legolas mounted Estel's gelding. "And _I,_ filthy Human, desire to unlock your mad reasoning for appreciating this old hag." Behind the visage of humor stood one of relief: one that Aragorn detected much too readily. The Ranger filed it away with all the other strange occurrences he had noticed in the past half year.

* * *

The hunt proved successful for the four warriors and in a few days time they found themselves strolling across the bridge and under the arch of Rivendell. There had been no more mishaps regarding Legolas' riding abilities, but that was not to say other things hadn't occurred. His aim with the bow had been off many a time and his skill for climbing trees reduced to a small, learning child. The twins attributed it to his ankle. Aragorn was not sure what to think. There had been many instances during the trip when he had awaken to find his eyes already partly open. Always, though, Legolas' had been shut, try as he did to hide the fact with his blanket. Which, the young man added to himself, Legolas had needed quite more than even before. _He_ knew that fall had arrived and winter was brewing, but oddly enough he had yet to feel a change in the air…even though his breath often frosted in the mornings now. He wasn't cold, though, so the human didn't question whatever logic may have stood behind it.

Legolas, however, greeted the dropping temperatures differently than he ever had before. He was finding it increasingly difficult to mask all of his new changes while in the twins' and Aragorn's presence.

There had been one time during their trip that a night hunt was deemed favorable. Luckily it had been raining, giving Legolas the excuse to use his cloak and hood. It was a good thing, too, for by hugging the dampened cloth against him he was able to conceal the lack of natural light radiating off his body—the _total_ lack. It had been a pang of both interest and apprehension, however, when he had glanced up at Aragorn. The young man had briefly dropped his hood to push back the hair clinging to his face. By some good chance, the twins never looked back. They never saw how their little brother was lit up like a brand new star just learning to shine. Thankfully, Aragorn didn't seem to notice either, but the Mirkwood prince figured it was just a matter of time.

There was one other thing that frightened the prince. So much so that the very thought of it turned his mouth dry. While bathing in the river one day, he had caught sight of his reflection. Instantly the blue eyes were drawn to his ears. The tips were _round_ and with growing horror, he'd discovered later that Estel's ears were now tipped. The archer felt like he was being taken apart piece by piece and replaced entirely by some awkward, alien creature. He no longer recognized himself anymore. To hide the changes of his ears, he opted to let his hair hang free and restrain only his long, golden bangs. But with the rapid pace of everything happening, he wondered how long it would be before someone found out. Then what could he do? What could he _say?

* * *

_

A merry feast was presented the evening of the hunters' return. Legolas spent a prolonged period of time in the deep bath that could be found in an adjoining room of his quarters. Still, when he appeared at the dinner table that evening, he found himself looking only second best…to _Strider_, no less! The ranger had truly cleaned up. He never looked so presentable, not on his best day, not during vital meetings…not even when Arwen came for her rare, sparse visits!

The Elven prince was not the first who gawked at Estel that night. Nor would he be the last. While the young human flushed miserably under all the unexpected attention, Elladan chuckled and placed his hands on Legolas' shoulders. He led the stupefied Elf to his seat and quite literally clicked his mouth shut. Legolas couldn't believe it. Despite all he'd done to prepare for the dinner, Estel had still come out looking better. The more he thought of it, the more he became appalled. Legolas' own tunic and leggings were actually a slight bit ragged and grubby, as he had run out of clean clothes and had just picked something that didn't appear too terribly dirty. His hair was down to help conceal his ears, but the golden locks were still drying, lending what appeared an oily look to those who were unaware of the fact—which covered practically everyone in the realm of Imladris.

Aragorn, on the other hand, had chosen lighter, more Rivendell colors rather than his usual dark hues. His hair shone from a cleansing wash and his slight beard was neatly trimmed. Legolas narrowed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. Why, Estel looked rather like an Elf at the moment—a _Mirkwood_ Elf to be exact…And the only _true_ Mirkwood Elf currently present looked like—

"A Ranger!"

Legolas' head shot up, focus swiftly returning to his eyes. He found much of the table staring at him. The twins were both laughing.

"You're right, Brother," Elladan said. He repeated what Elrohir had just pointed out. "Legolas _does_ look rather similar to a Ranger at the moment. And Estel! He glows like an Elven prince!"

The color drained from Legolas' face while it rapidly rose in Aragorn's. Trembling lightly he watched Elladan reach for and teasingly tug on Estel's ears.

"Look, Adar!" he exclaimed. "His ears! They're pointed!"

"By the Valar!" Aragorn and Elrohir proclaimed at the same time. The former had used his highly polished spoon to take a look at the topic of his eldest brother's claim.

The Ranger began to laugh. "I used to pull on them constantly when I was younger to stretch them. I guess it finally worked!"

Blissfully ignored for the time being, Legolas somehow managed to compose himself long enough to be excused. No sooner did he pass beyond the dining hall doors than he bolted. He _had_ to get away from the home, at least for a while.

Elrond had remained silent throughout the exchanges at his dinner table. However, upon the abrupt departure of their guest from Mirkwood, the frown upon his face had deepened to a scowl.

Something very wrong was going on under his very own roof and it was not something he particularly approved of.

* * *

Legolas' heart was pounding in his chest even before he bolted from the house. He'd told himself since he gave a part of himself away to save Estel that it was all worth it and he could learn to adapt to the inevitable consequences.

His wild flight to the banks of the Bruinen did not stem from saving Estel. Rather, his fears gurgled forth from the consequences. He _thought_ he could learn to live without his immortality…but with his immortality seemed to go everything else that defined him as a living creature…_an Elf_…_as Legolas, _son of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm! It had become too much for the prince to bear any longer with no knowledge of what surprises may still be to come.

The banks were empty when he raced onto the lightly colored sand and stones. Looking for the entire world like he was expecting a ghost to spring out of thin air, Legolas stopped in the cleaning and turned slowly in a circle, his eyes wide as he panted for breath. Such a simple run as he had just had should not have left an Elf out of breath…but Legolas wasn't even sure he was an Elf anymore…

"Where are you! Hello? Are you there!" he shouted to the wind. He could feel the fear begin to rise up again.

The wind answered.

Spinning, Legolas jumped and turned in the direction he heard the laugh spring from. A cool breeze shifted along his neck and shoulders and it was all he could do not to pull his tunic closer about him for warmth. When he turned around again, the darkly cloaked man was staring at him. He took a menacing step towards the Elf, involuntarily causing Legolas to move back. It seemed that, with his immortality, his steel reserves had also fled. It was this _creature_, whoever or whatever he really was, that had taken his soul from him and traded it for an empty shell.

The man could read the apprehension in the other's eyes and smiled. "Here I am," he said in a sing-song sort of way. "You were calling for me, were you not? You tremble, son of Thranduil. Surely yes, you feel the cold bite of the wind as you never have before, but within you I sense much more than an aversion to the weather…Am I correct…_Mortal_?"

"What have you done to me?" His voice came out in a hushed whisper filled with fear, confusion, and dismay.

"What you wanted, Mortal."

"Stop! Stop! Don't call me that!" The blonde archer was practically ripping at his hair. His eyes were held tightly shut and he appeared to be trying to block the man's voice out.

"But isn't it what you wanted?" The man stepped closer, forcing Legolas to jerk awkwardly backwards, once more out of reach. His tormentor pushed on. "Isn't it what you thought of? What you dreamed of? That your best friend would be immortal and not merely human? Why? So that your selfish heart would not one day be forced to say goodbye and let him go…Is that not what you wanted?

"You can't remember the return from your journey, can you, _Prince_? You don't remember how noises in the night led you from your silent vigil over the slumbering man. You don't remember how the trees warned you too late or the scent of the reeking liquid that set you to dance upon the door of unconsciousness. You don't remember the knife as it cut you or the potion as it coursed through your veins. But you do remember one thing—"

Here, the man blew into Legolas' face. Images—the entire event—from the first to the last of the rips he had placed in his best friend's body flew into his mind's eye. Legolas winced and began to shake violently as though a mighty tremor had taken over his body. He closed his eyes off from the outside world, but still the images were there, repeating themselves in his mind. Finally feeling overwhelmed, Legolas slid to the ground, holding his head in his hands. Realization dawned when he clearly saw the being before him in his mind. This was the creature that had drugged him, caused him to place all those grievous hurts upon the man whom was very much like a brother to him.

"It was your doing! All of it! All of _this_!" he ground out between clenched teeth. He was in pain, whether from the memories or some other hurt the Elf was not sure, but it caused him to feel sick to his stomach.

More images sprang to life within his tortured mind. Legolas squirmed as scenes flashed by quickly: a traveling party of humans, all dressed Ranger-like; a woman smiling softly down at a sleeping child, the hand of a man resting lightly and protectively on her shoulder—a man eerily familiar in appearance to Aragorn. The peaceful images shifted to men battling Orcs and women running from the sight. Even blurred as they were, Legolas could make out the sight of two Elves, identical in every way, as they came to the battle site too late. Not too late, however, to save the life of an abandoned child, tucked into the secrecy of a large flowering bush. And throughout it all, lost in the background of each passing image was a man, wicked in general appearance with an air of powerful abilities about him. Legolas knew from the first instant he saw him that it was the man standing before him now, whose face remained shielded from view.

The Elf felt overwhelmed by this flowing rush of information. As his eyes rolled back and he collapsed fully and limply to the ground, he was just able to catch the man's final words: "You presented the offer. Now live with the consequences, Firstborn. Or should I say mortal?"

* * *

To be continued... 


	2. Part 2

Story information and disclaimer on Part 1.

Many thanks to those of you who reviewed. I'm glad everyone seems to have liked it thus far! Here's the final part for you. I hope you enjoy.

--Marie K.

**Don't forget to read and review!**

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* * *

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**Hope Immortal**

**Part 2**

The next day found Legolas rising stiffly to his feet. It seemed he had fallen unconscious and remained that way throughout the night. The events from the previous evening had not left him, but at least they no longer felt as though they were boring holes into his very soul and mind. Flexing fingers stiff with cold, the Elf did not hear until too late that he was being approached from behind. It was only the sensation of being watched that kept him from being wholly unprepared.

"Aragorn!"

The human chuckled. "Yes, Legolas. I _am_ Aragorn. You need not announce it to all of Middle Earth."

Legolas flushed at his rather loud outburst. Estel simply smiled before becoming serious. "What happened to you yesterday?" he questioned. "I grew worried when you never returned, but Father said to let you be. Are you well, _mellon-nin_?"

Legolas took the question the wrong way, thinking that Aragorn had finally caught on. He veered quickly away from the current topic with a question of his own. "Strider, do you remem—"

"Ssh!" Unexpectantly the human covered Legolas' lips with his fingers. He thought he'd heard—there! There it was again! "The twins are calling for us. I'll race you to them!" he explained while at the same time taking the Elf's wrist and dragging him along behind.

Legolas had no choice but to concede the race and tag awkwardly along behind his friend. He hadn't heard the twins, not that he should have been surprised by the fact anymore.

To Legolas, he was running blind through the forest so that Aragorn, naturally, won the race and did so rather dramatically by skidding straight into his brothers. For Estel they hadn't been prepared. Legolas on the other hand—

"Valar, Thranduil-Two," one of the twins said using their teasing nickname for the Mirkwood Elf. "Could you be any louder? You sounded like a herd of Oliphaunts crashing through the forest. Why, Estel here was quieter!"

Neither Aragorn nor the twins saw Legolas wince at the accusation.

* * *

"Aragorn? Are you here?" Legolas was standing in the center of the practice range, looking for but not seeing his dark-haired companion. Images from his last encounter with the magic man still flitted through his mind, constantly demanding his attention. He wanted to know more about the enigma of a man and thought that perhaps Aragorn could tell him.

"Here I am." The ranger emerged from behind a target, arrows in hand. "Be right there," was his response to Legolas' unspoken request. The Elf wasn't forced to wait long. When Strider approached him, he was busy fiddling with the arrows' fletchings.

"Legolas, my shots aren't landing where I sight in. They always come up just next to the area." Drawing his bow, he demonstrated what he meant. The arrow landed just shy of a bull's-eye. Strider's aim certainly had improved. The Elf could see that if nothing else. Unslinging his own bow, Legolas sited in.

"Your stance is probably off," he explained. "Keep your toe pointed forward; just the simple direction of your foot can affect the arrow's path." The Elven prince held his breath and fired, letting it out when the arrow was safely away.

He nearly choked on the escaping air as his arrow missed the target completely, flying somewhere into the surrounding forest. The look of utter shock on his face matched that of Estel's.

"Uh, Legolas? You meant to do that…right?"

The Elf worked his mouth like a fish's. "The fletchings," he finally spit out, "the fletchings are bad! And, and the bow: its string has begun to unwind." He shouldered the weapon quickly. If he'd thought his soul had been ripped in two at the loss of his immortality and Elven characteristics, then surely this—the utter loss of his archery skills—was the icing on the cake, the complete shattering of whatever was left of his soul. True, his aim may have been bad while on the hunting trip… but this? Suddenly, the thought of dying didn't seem like such a bad idea.

"Try my bow." Aragorn offered the weapon, complete with an arrow, but Legolas refused it.

"Estel, if I may, I'd like to ask you about your time with your parents. _Human_ parents," he classified quickly.

The man furrowed his brow questioningly. "I'm not sure what I can remember, but I'll do my best. What's on your mind, _mellon_?"

The Elf fidgeted slightly, apprehensive of his question. "Aragorn, the last journey with your parents—was there a magic man of some sort traveling with you? His face always held a scowl and he smelt of smoke and burnt things."

Strider's eyes settled on something in the distance as he concentrated on the faces within his memory. Now that Legolas mentioned it, he did seem to remember a man who always smelled like smoke. Legolas saw recognition dawn and further pressed his friend.

"This man's name: do you remember it, Estel? Did he perish with the rest of your father's company? Was he overly powerful?"

Taken off guard by this barrage of questions, the only thing Aragorn could do was shake his head. "I was young, Legolas," he tried to explain. "I do not remember much more than the foul looks of the man. I do believe, however, that he was deeply loyal to my father. Why do you ask?" He added quickly.

The Elf only shook his head. "It was nothing, Estel. Thank you." He moved to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To my quarters… so that I may write a letter to my father and have it sent before snow covers the mountain pass. I'll see you at the—"

"Noon meal," Estel supplied when Legolas did not seem to know.

"Yes, of course."

Aragorn watched confused as the prince walked swiftly away. Unexpectedly, he spoke. "Hello, Ada."

Elrond, whom had been hiding in the shadows, felt the frown on his face deepen. He'd made no noise as far as he could tell, but somehow, his youngest son had still detected him; for a human, he was very adept at locating Elves, but usually Estel gave a slight indication that he'd heard something at least. Usually he would cock his head to one side, but the young man hadn't done so this time. Estel had changed and was still changing, but it wasn't something he'd quite been able to put his finger on yet. The Elf lord would have to think on it some more, but until then…

"It seems as though Prince Legolas departed rather quickly," he murmured, taking a seat beside the human. Estel studied an arrow that he was twirling between his fingers. "Legolas has been acting a bit odd lately… or is it just I that has noticed?" Elrond looked long and hard at his youngest, but the Edain would not meet his gaze.

Aragorn responded in turn with a question of his own. "Ada, there was a magic man who traveled in my father's company for many years, was there not?"

"Aye, there was." Elrond did not understand the reasoning behind his son's question.

"Tell me about him: his name, his role. Did he too die in the attack?"

Elrond let his thoughts travel to what he knew of Arathorn and his men. True, the Elf Lord knew much of Isildur's heir, but his sons were more familiar with the men that had traveled with them. Still, there was a little he knew…

"There was what one may call a magic man that traveled with your father. _Human_ father." He smiled softly at Estel. "His name was Dorenck. His role as far as my knowledge goes was rather unclear, as Arathorn was never one to use curses or blessings from magic. Still, Dorenck was supposedly very loyal to your father and Elendil's line, and he vowed many a time to do whatever was in his power to preserve the line of the kings of Gondor. If my memory serves me right, he even went so far as to attempt to give Arathorn the gift of immortality. Alas, even such a gift as that would not have saved him that night."

Elrond could practically see his son absorbing all of this new information. He responded to the positive when his son questioned him about Dorenck smelling of smoke. "From the many hours he spent over a fire, laboring on potions."

"Did he die?" It had occurred to the young man that that was one question his father had yet to answer.

The Elf Lord hesitated. "Your brothers say that all but yourself perished that night, although… his was the only body not found. Elladan saw him fall, but there was naught but an empty book and broken vial where his body should have lain."

"Curious," was all Aragorn could find to say. Gradually he lifted his face and eyes, moving the two separately until eventually, he was staring at the abandoned target. Such odd things were happening… "Ah, _hannon le_, Ada." Aragorn rose slowly, almost hesitating. He flashed his father a quick, small appreciative grin and promised not to be late for the midday meal, then walked in an unhurried manner back to the house.

Later that night, after dinner had been completed, Elrond stepped quietly into his herb room to find Elrohir. The younger Elf was distracted, searching along a low shelf for some herb currently unknown to the Elf Lord. Sensing his father appear, the twin asked simply "Gold vine?"

Elrond reached for a large vial to his right and presented his son with the desired plant. He accepted the forthcoming gratitude, but was reluctant to let his middle son leave quite yet.

"Elrohir, if I may, I'd like to have a work with you."

"Of course, Ada," was the expected response. "Only—only El has a terrible headache and if I could just take the gold vine to him—?"

"Just a moment, _ion nín_, I will not hold you long." He gently guided his son into a nearby chair. "Elrohir, have you noticed anything _odd_ about your brother?"

"So you've noticed it, too?" The hopeful look on his face belied his inner, hidden mirth.

Elrond's hope, however, was entirely pure. Until, at last, it was dashed by the younger Elf before him.

"I always knew that there was something wrong with him. That Elf hasn't been right since he was born—"

The Elven Lord barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as he waved off anything more. "I meant your _younger_ brother. The _human_? _Estel_?"

"Oh, of course, Ada…But no…I haven't noticed anything. He acts as he always has: like an Elf. Why do you ask? Should I have picked up on something?"

"What about Legolas?"

Elrohir paused, thoughtfulness stealing over his features. Eventually he shrugged. "He has seemed a bit distant lately. For a while now, actually." Elrohir sifted through his thoughts once more, wondering if there was anything else. No…except… "I suggest he stay here next time Halbarad and the other Rangers call Estel out. He's not only beginning to _act_ like the Humans, but also _look _like them!"

The two paused as a pathetic, plaintive cry of "El, where's that gold vine!" sounded from the stairwell. When Elrond nodded his head in dismissal, Elrohir gathered what he had come for and started past. The Elven Lord unexpectedly grasped his shoulder.

"Tell the others: word came from Lothlorien today. Mithrandir is visiting with your grandparents. He shall pass through this way when his stay is complete."

Elrohir's grin spread from pointed ear to pointed ear at this news. The others would be delighted at such grand tidings! "Business in the Shire?" he asked.

The other nodded. "Most likely." The smile on his lips, however, did not touch his eyes and Elrohir realized something was still bothering his father. They have previously been speaking of Legolas' odd behavior. Could that be it?

"Perhaps he is homesick?" Elrond did not even need to wonder at whom his son was referring to. Another call from Elladan urged him to wave Elrohir on.

The Elven Lord watched him hurry off, sure that his response was heard by the younger Elf.

"Perhaps."

* * *

Time passed so that fall gave way to winter and the first snowfalls. The Lord of Rivendell was becoming increasingly worried over his two youngest charges, yet whatever the problem was had yet to make itself known to him, which irked the Elven Lord to no end.

Legolas continued to endure his changes in silent misery, while Aragorn grew ecstatic with each passing day. He was becoming more of the person he'd always wanted to be—more of the _Elf_ that resided within his heart. His brothers had not noticed a difference, and the fact that he could do things now that at one time he was unable to, did not seem to them the slightest bit strange.

From his vantage point on a balcony high above the ground, Elrond watched his three sons and their Mirkwood guest wrestle in the snow. The prince seemed to have lost his normally vibrant, radiant smile. In all actuality, the older Elf could not remember the last time he had seen true happiness on Legolas' face. Yes, there was the occasional grin, but it was not more than a mask employed by the blonde Elf to hide deeper hurts. It had become much too easy for Elrond to see past the mask, although up until recently he had done a good job of fooling them all. The healer was swiftly beginning to think Legolas had lost all hope. Hope for what, he didn't know, but it was disconcerting nonetheless.

Down on the ground, the Elf being scrutinized collapsed wearily onto the house steps. Legolas felt drained, cold, and grumpy: traits that had usually been laid upon Strider at the end of a long day of snow fights and other escapades in the cool, powdery substance. He watched in a detached manner as Aragorn tackled one of his brothers in the snow. Legolas wasn't at all sure which was which anymore. He'd given up trying to clear his foggy mind enough to determine which Elladan was and which Elrohir was. Now they were simply known as "El" to him.

The troubled Elf let his mind wander as his teeth chattered and his breath frosted on the air. He rubbed his arms briskly to draw warmth, but only when he was sure his companions' attentions were diverted.

Legolas felt that maybe he was finally coming to accept his fate. In the beginning, he had been scared, terrified more than he ever would have previously admitted. Often, he found himself in frightful situations, confronted by something in the wilds that would not have startled him just months ago. But objects that were whole to him at one time now appeared ripped and punctured. Food was bland—wretched to the point that he no longer ate as he should. Wine and other beverages left powerful, sordid aftertastes in his mouth.

With the loss of his immortality came the loss of Legolas' very being and soul. The desire to live lessoned with each new, dreaded discovery. But in most manners now, the blonde prince was no longer of Elven heart. Meaning he was no longer even capable of dying from a broken heart. When Legolas had agreed to the sacrifice for his friend's life, he had _truly_ agreed to a sacrifice: one of monstrous proportions.

A tentative hand on his shoulder roused him from the stressing thoughts that played within his mind. He looked up into the worried face of Estel.

"Are you all right?" the man asked. "You've been coughing for a few minutes now."

"Coughing?" Legolas felt confused, speaking the word as though it was from a tongue foreign to him until the strong itching in his throat grew to its maximum and he was overcome by great, hacking coughs. He had been doing this for a while now, but had managed to keep it a hidden curse. The native of Mirkwood surmised that his lack of focus while thinking had allowed the fits to go unnoticed by himself until too late.

"Yes, coughing. Like that!" Estel squeezed his companion's shoulder, noting how prominent the bone appeared to be.

"Legolas? Are you are right?"

"Yes, yes of course!"

"Truly?" The doubt in the Ranger's voice and expression was readily apparent.

Legolas stood with an "Aye, Estel." It did not occur to him at that moment that the human's more sensitive ears would be able to hear him murmur, "In time I hope to be…" as he turned and walked away.

* * *

The news spread quickly. By nightfall nearly every Elf residing in Imladris had heard: Legolas, the _Elven_ Prince of Mirkwood, was ill with the flu. An Elf! Sick! With a common cold of humans, no less! The idea was preposterous… but it was true. Even as Legolas' chilled, yet feverishly warmed body battled the sickness, Aragorn paced the halls and Elrond did what he could. Estel had had the flu many a time as a child. More recently—three years ago to be exact—he had had a particularly bad case during a visit to Mirkwood. Elrond had come to Thranduil's kingdom and nursed his son back to health. But even with these bouts of experience, the Elven Lord could not seem to find _anything_ that eased the blonde Elf's discomfort. This, of course, bothered Elrond to no end…although by no means did it outweigh his confusion for why he was sick in the first place. Odd things were happening still…

The Lord of Imladris was not at all pleased as he left a very ill Legolas to sleep through feverish dreams.

* * *

"I don't understand it. He's been so distant since he became sick! What could be bothering him so that he ignores and avoids me at all costs?"

"Caw!"

"That is an idea… could Legolas be embarrassed because he's sick and he's an Elf? And Elves don't _get _sick?"

"Caw! Caw!"

"I think I _should_ go check on him; just to see what's going on."

"Caw!"

The crow he had been feeding bread to skipped once and flew off when Aragorn pushed himself to his feet. He turned and headed to Legolas' room. Unlike he had done three times that day, Estel chose not to hesitate and back down this time. Up until that morning he had been persistent in visiting with his friend, but enough rejections could turn even the most devout companion away. This time, however, he barely stopped to knock before pushing the door wide.

"Legolas, are you awake?"

No answer.

Typical.

The bed's occupant rested on his side, the tops of his bare shoulders exposed to Aragorn's view amidst the layers of blankets heaped together for warmth. The young man rounded the side of the bed and stopped. He scrutinized the being before him.

Legolas' eyes were closed. In all blatantly true obviousness, he had no idea how someone—someone immortal and immune to sickness—was supposed to _deal_ with the flu. But he did his best and so far seemed to have gotten away with having to expound upon the numerous questions Elrond and his family had for the Mirkwood native. Legolas _knew _Aragorn had entered the room; _knew_ that he was probably staring down at his "sleeping" from even as these thoughts crossed his mind. But all that he was able to do was that that he had done the numerous other times visitors had come and waited for the estimated time of their stay to pass. True to the times before, Legolas heard Estel rise from his seat after about 10 minutes and walk towards the door. He heaved a large sigh of relief, but realized that he would not have been prepared for the site that greeted his opening eyes even if given time to make ready.

"Strider!"

"Hello, Legolas."

"You're still here!"

"Is that really so bad?"

"How long have you been waiting?"

The human narrowed his eyes, not at all pleased by the situation. "Legolas, I think it's time you and I had a talk."

"A…_talk,_ Strider?"

"Aye, a talk, my dear friend."

Legolas winced. Aragorn's abrupt change of tone felt to him more painful than any physical blow could be.

"Legolas, you've been avoiding me. You've been distancing yourself and carrying some heavy burden upon your shoulders that's greatly in need of being shared. I can _sense_ it. I only wish you would open up to me as you were once so easily able to do."

The Elf could feel himself breaking on the inside. His walls were being attacked by a merciless barrage of good will, something stronger than any mind bent on a desire of destruction.

"Your greatest wishes, your deepest fears—I knew them all at one time. Why can you not tell me now what troubles you so? Do you not trust me as a bearer of your secrets? Have I led you astray at some point and subsequently lost—destroyed—the connection we both cherish so much?"

Legolas felt it just before it hit: a sob that he could not prevent from forcibly shaking his weakened body. Concerned all the more but still desperate for answers, Aragorn kneeled beside the bed and took one of his friend's cold hands in his two.

"If it is still _that day_," he spoke quietly and slowly, "Legolas, I forgave you for it the moment I awoke. I hold neither grudge nor ill will to you my friend. Strange occurrences have been taking place since I nearly died—"

Legolas felt all manners of defense and pretense be blown away and he finally collapsed under the pressure and secrets that had held him captive for so long. With tears that had been long in mounting now flowing so freely, he gripped Aragorn's wrist with his free hand. "Died! Nearly died! Dead, Estel, you were dead! I felt it within me!" More sobs shook the thin frame and the Ranger worried that his sick friend may hyperventilate in his non-too stable state. Suddenly, the Elf's wet and swollen red-rimmed eyes snapped open, the blueness of those orbs being multiplied many times over by the tears that clung there. With shaky breath, Legolas spoke again. "But I—I couldn't let it happen. My fault—mine. I saw him, the Magic Man. I only did what—what he proposed. Anything for your life, Estel! I gave—I gave—I—"

Thoroughly alarmed now, Aragorn freed his arms and took his sobbing friend by the shoulders, just barely resisting the urge to violently shake him. _"Gave what, _Legolas? _Anta man_!**"**

The prince was still struggling to bring shaky gulps of air in through his mouth as his nose had become rather useless at the moment for breathing. Fear shone in his eyes: fear that Aragorn either would not believe him or would be too satisfied with his new Elven traits to do anything. Through trembling lips he barely whispered, "My immortality."

As he had expected, the human picked up every syllable.

Some form of realization seemed to dawn on Aragorn at that moment. With a hesitancy that made it appear he was afraid of burning Legolas, the young man pushed back a few locks of golden hair and just barely brushed his fingers along the tip of the Elf's ear. Holding back a gasp, he did the same to his own. This time, the sharp intake of air sounded more like an oxygen starved creature finally drawing breath as it escaped from Strider's lips. Breathing hard himself now and with eyes wide, he whispered the name of the one before him. The distressed man bolted from the room and with trembling lips still, Legolas buried his face in the pillow and allowed the tears to come again.

* * *

"_Ada!"_

"By the heavens—Mithrandir, if you'll excuse me just a moment—Estel! What in Valar's name is the matter?"

"Ada, you must come quickly. It's Legolas!"

Fearing the worst, the Elven Lord hurried after his son. Mithrandir looked on momentarily, remembering what Elrond had said of the changes in his two youngest charges and the Prince of Mirkwood's sudden, unexpected bout with the flu. Curious, he narrowed his eyes slightly and walked in a much calmer step in the direction father and son had taken.

* * *

Never had any of those gathered heard of such a thing. Yes, there were tales of Elves themselves relinquishing their immortality so that they may stay on Arda for one reason or another. But someone taking the gift—or curse as some saw it—from a Firstborn? As well as the things that made an Elf an Elf? It didn't seem possible! But as Elrond, his three sons, and Mithrandir had clearly seen, it appeared very much possible. An uncomfortable air of silence had descended upon the five companions ever since Legolas had revealed everything and they had left him to an herb induced slumber to discuss the matter at hand somewhere else.

"But how?" Elladan implored, breaking the silence. To his left, Elrohir laid a soothing hand upon his youngest brother's back. The news was affecting Aragorn the greatest. His best friend had asked for a miracle to save his life, but the price that he had been forced to pay was more than any creature should have to surrender. Although…he remembered the brief conversation that had been held between the two friends as Aragorn turned to follow the others out. He had looked to the Elf and said with strong conviction, "Have hope, Legolas! Hope is forever, hope is—"

"Immortal?" A look of amused irony, albeit small, passed between the two. "Yes, _Estel_: immortal," Legolas whispered. "Hope _is_ immortal."

Elrond sat across the room, his brow furrowed in a foreboding manner. They had been there: the signs, the hints. Suddenly each one seemed clear. Legolas' lack of stealth and hearing. His lack of energy. The deceptive use of his hair. His inability to do the things that were once so natural for him. It was like—

"_He's not only beginning to _act_ like the Humans, but also _look_ like them!"_

An uncontrollable groan escaped the Elven Lord's lips. Hadn't Elrohir made the innocent comment just weeks before? Of course he hadn't been able to pinpoint the problem. Estel had grown up in a world where he was the only human. How many times had they _all _wished he was a fellow brother of Elven blood? The change in Estel had been accepted as natural and welcomed with open arms. Legolas, on the other hand, was still the occasional mystery to all but Aragorn, despite his frequent interactions with the family. They _had_ brushed Legolas' odd transformations off as spending too much time around humans, particularly one Ranger whom could usually camouflage himself well enough by simply laying in dirt and mud. Estel had been too preoccupied with his own changes to take the time to see beyond his friend's mask. These were thoughts that made them all feel rather sick themselves.

The only one who still managed to feel somewhat unfazed sat off to Elrond's right, quite contentedly puffing away at his pipe, even though he knew none in the room appreciated the wafting smoke. (Except, perhaps, Aragorn, but he had not yet fully taken up the habit.)

The Wizard, a frequent visitor of the Last Homely House, had rather surprised the House's residing lord by his arrival that morning. He originally was not expected until winter had passed and spring had begun to creep into the valley. But it was not a particularly harsh winter and a little snow had never slowed the Mair before. Truthfully, it had been his intent to wait, but a word of foreboding from the Lady Galadriel and his own misgivings had prodded him to come to Rivendell as swiftly as possible. It seemed their instincts had been right to lead him here. Finally deciding that something had to be done, Mithrandir stood and paused in front of the great fire that forever burned in the peaceful home. He pulled deeply on his pipe.

"The sense of self-blame within this room is enough to smother the fire of a Balrog," he stated sarcastically. The Wizard turned around, pleased to see he had their attention. "Elladan, Elrohir, you out of all of us know the most about Dorenck. Mayhap you should attempt to track him down? Implore of his purpose? Hmm?" Mithrandir raised one bushy eyebrow.

Accepting the task gratefully, the twins quickly exited the Great Hall of Fire. The two did not even bother to stop and collect their cloaks before rushing out into the cool winter air. Estel risked a glance between his father and the wizard before he, too, bolted.

The faintest hint of a grim smile touched Mithrandir's lips. "My friend," he said, addressing Elrond, "why do you not go sit with young Legolas while I give the matter at hand some thought?"

Just as happy as his sons had been to have something to do, Elrond nodded and made his way upstairs.

Mithrandir took his seat up again and puffed away at his pipe, eyes narrowed in deep thought.

* * *

The blonde Elf from Mirkwood was sitting against the headboard of his bed when Elrond walked silently into the room. Legolas refused to meet the Elven Lord's gaze, still feeling great guilt and trepidation over all that had happened, not to mention deep embarrassment for having lost what every Elf held dear.

Seeing that his charge still doubted, Elrond chose not to speak for the first few minutes. When he finished with his slight ministrations, however, he stepped back and looked the sick Elf over with both the eye of a father and healer. "Young Prince," he addressed, "you need not worry. Estel and his brothers have gone to seek out Dorenck and set things right. All will be well soon."

"Elrond?"

Mithrandir stood in the doorway, a haggard expression on his face. "I'm afraid I may hold deadly news." He glanced over the Elf's shoulder at Legolas and tried to lead his companion from the room. The prince reached out to them.

"Please, Mithrandir! I would hear what you have to say!"

With a nod of approval from Elrond, the Wizard drew forth a tattered book he had found. It was the journal that Elladan had discovered in place of Dorenck's missing body. At that time, only the first few pages had been filled. The elder twin had brought it back to his father's library, and for years it had rested forgotten. Instincts, however, had led the wizard to it. Upon opening the journal, which he had seen briefly upon his first visit to Imladris after Arathorn's death, the Mair was amazed to find nearly all the pages filled with words. It was an account of some sort of the years since Dorenck's death. Somehow he had fused his spirit to the book. Inside, records could be found of Estel growing up in the Elven sanctuary and later his time with Legolas. The Elf Prince's surprising betrayal and the resulting history sat clear as day upon the bound pages. And near the end, being written even as they watched was the account of the sons of Elrond and their encounter with the spirit of the crazed magic man…

Mithrandir showed all of this to his two companions, their initial surprise as great as his had been. Taking the book in his own hands, Legolas thumbed through the leaflets. He quickly found himself at the last page. The words, which had stopped momentarily, were appearing again. What they revealed chilled him to the bone.

* * *

"Dorenck, it is I, Elladan, son of Elrond."

"And I, his brother, Elrohir. We come seeking your presence, Dorenck!"

"My Lord…"

Aragorn jumped as the icy, whispered word brushed along his ear. His enhanced senses were screaming that the three of them were not alone, just as those of Elladan and Elrohir were.

The three brothers swapped startled looks. "Did you—" Aragorn began to say. A particularly icy breeze swept through the clearing, bringing with it the acrid sent of smoke. Close at hand, the Bruinen flowed undisturbed. Movement to the right alerted all three brothers to Dorenck's arrival. Elrohir stepped forward, hands held out in an innocent gesture. He barely took two steps before Dorenck flung his hand outward. A sharp blast of wind knocked the graceful Elf to the ground. Elladan ran and knelt at his side…which left Aragorn exposed.

"My Lord," Dorenck gushed softly, extending his hands. He bowed on one knee and dropped his eyes. Aragorn looked on dumbfounded.

"Why?" He spoke the word like a curse. "You took away the things that my best friend and his people hold closest to their hearts! Why would you allow him to do such a thing?"

"For _you,_ my Lord! I did it for _you_!"

"Dorenck, it is not such an easy thing to do. It should not be done for anyone, not even I. Whatever you hoped to accomplish must be forgotten. I will not allow Legolas to lose what he has always held dear just to save myself."

Dorenck abruptly stood, confusion shining in his eyes. "But Lord Aragorn, that _Elf_, the _mortal_ as he is now…I have seen your future together. As long as you remain together, you _will _be destroyed, whether through protecting him or the curse of old age, I know not. But you cannot die, son of Arathorn! Last heir of Isildur! It is up to you to restore the once mighty throne of Gondor. Do not throw it away to that _Elf_! Your loyalties lie not to him! They lie with _your _people: _humans_. Your survival is all that truly matters."

Finally, Aragorn understood. Dorenck had done what he did to them so that Aragorn would not die of old age, thus giving him a better chance of becoming who he was destined to be. The Ranger did not notice when a gentle wind blew the hair off his ears. Nor did he see the flash of surprise along Dorenck's face at the sight of the pointed tips. The magic man had only attempted to take the Elf's immortality. It appeared now that he had taken more.

Eyes narrowed in quickly mounting rage, Aragorn stepped forward once. "You shame my forefathers," he spit at the spirit. "This is not how it is supposed to be…Step down, Dorenck. Return things as they were and leave this earth for the place where you truly belong: the land of the dead."

Dorenck quickly allowed the confusion and betrayal he felt to melt off his face. "The Elves have blinded you, son of Arathorn. You _have_ the power. _Use_ it. Use it to your own advantage. They are _jealous_."

"Lies," was all Aragorn said in response.

The anger behind Dorenck's eyes grew. "Very well, my Lord. But you will regret crossing my path," he whispered, a feral smirk upon his lips.

The spirit disappeared, giving Aragorn the impression that he was gone for the time being.

He was wrong.

An exclamation of surprise rose from both twins' lips behind him. Estel turned quickly, stunned to see Elladan high in the air. His legs kicked forcibly and his hands tugged desperately at something around his neck, something that didn't appear to be there. Unnatural static flew through the air, causing the hopeless bystanders' skin to tingle with the charge they could feel. Elladan was obviously struggling for breath; Aragorn knew without a doubt that it was Dorenck's doing. Suddenly, Elrohir cried out and dropped to one knee. He was holding his hand over his heart.

"Dorenck," the younger twin gasped, "he—he's drawing Elladan's spirit out of his body!" Elrohir rocked forward: he was in pain and losing strength, just as his brother was. "I—I can feel it. Estel, he's going to rip my very heart in two!"

Fear radiated off the young human as he helplessly watched his two brothers. What would he do? What _could_ he do! Dorenck was after more than just the twins' immortality. He wanted their very lives and he quite knowledgeably knew that attacking one in such a manner would deeply affect the other.

Despair. Guilt. Helplessness.

These were the things that Aragorn was feeling. Immortal or not, if he lost both his brothers and best friend to this spirit, he would never be able to live with it. He never even realized that the cry of protest and denial that shook the valley was his. He did, however, realize whose voice bellowed up from behind him, speaking commands in the Grey Tongue.

"Misguided spirit, cease your actions! Needless, they are here, and of a wrong purpose. Return to your own world and leave us here in peace!"

There was the sound of a staff striking the ground before a bright flash of light wiped away anything Aragorn could hope to see.

It was his last memory of that eventful day.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Spring had finally decided to grace Arda with its presence again, much to the delight of all creatures that walked in the light. Mithrandir had taken leave of the Last Homely House and its occupants a few weeks before. He claimed to have need of such a hasty leave because he was "long overdue in paying a visit to the Shire folk."

Currently, sitting in his study, Elrond was rather enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. Silence and a sense of calm had been quite rare for a few months now, but for the past week it had been all his. Sipping at his tea, however, he supposed it was a nice tradeoff from what it had been like before the wizard's arrival. Elrond could never thank the Valar enough for allowing him to keep his sons…and the prince. Thranduil would have had his head if something had happened to the mischievous archer. The thought made him smile, although a few months before it was nothing to be laughed at. The road to recovery had been a hard one, and the Elven Lord knew that Legolas had felt lost many times over. The return of what was rightfully his had made a great impact on him both mentally and physically. At one point, he had even confided to Aragorn that he had forgotten who he really was on the inside.

"Then it is my duty as your friend to show you the way back to yourself," he had said, and indeed, by working together, the two had done just that.

It was at that moment that a new arrival touched his sensitive ears—that of a chorus of sound—and his grin grew wider. He chuckled softly. There went his peace and quiet…

* * *

"Prissy Human."

"Filthy Elf!"

"Would you two—"

"—just shut up?"

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged amused grins. "We were just joking," Legolas murmured.

"Yeah, just joking." Aragorn reined his usual mount, the quiet gelding, near Elladan and tugged at the Elf's tipped ear before swiftly drawing away. His horse tucked his head and pranced off, feeling spirited in the new spring air. Legolas felt the budding energy of his stallion and smiled.

"Daenár is still full of energy," he managed to get out just before the stallion reared. Legolas lowered his heels further and gripped mane with one hand. With the other he plucked a handful of new, bright green leaves and showered the young human with them.

"No fair!" Aragorn shifted to try and get away, subsequently losing a stirrup in the process. "That's another thing I miss," he growled teasingly, adding to the large list he'd already accumulated. Legolas grinned as he watched Estel fish for the iron piece.

"Personally, I'm fine." The Elf wiggled his stirrup-free toes to emphasize his point and then scrambled gracefully until he was standing on his mount's bare back. Elladan and Elrohir fussed playfully at the prince, telling him that he'd managed to remain uninjured thus far and they preferred to keep it that way. But the archer was having much too much fun to be dissuaded now. He hadn't realized how precious his skills were to him until he'd lost the very thing that made up who he was. With an effortless leap he went from Daenár's back to a nearby tree limb. Those on the ground swiftly lost sight of him until he suddenly appeared beside Estel, swinging freely upside-down with his legs locked around a branch. Aragorn jerked in surprise, then succumbed to the laughter at his friend's ridiculous antics.

"So, _mellon nín_," he asked, "how about that race?"

Still laughing, Aragorn took one dirt-smudged finger and traced it along Legolas' fair, _clean_ cheek. The prince quickly scurried off, taking that as a no and mock panicking because he was longer entirely clean.

Nearby, the twins shared a rueful grin between themselves and then with their father, whom they could see watching them from a far-off distance, a smile also grazing the elder Elf's features. They continued towards home, knowing the other two would come when ready.

"Yes, it seems things truly _are_ back to normal," Elrohir confided quietly to his brother.

Elladan rolled his eyes and said good-naturedly, "I think I preferred it when Estel smelt better and Legolas was the filthy one."

Bright-blue eyes snapped to attention. "I heard that!" Legolas exclaimed. Beside him, Aragorn, too, suddenly seemed to come awake.

"What? What?" he asked excitedly, his now normal human ears not having picked up what was said.

"Nothing. Or at least nothing that concerns a child."

"Ah, so it's only for the ears of crusty old Elves, eh?"

That did it. In the next instant, Estel was being chased under the arch of Imladris by three 'crusty old Elves.' Elrond's grin grew wider still as Estel slipped quickly past with a brief, "Hello, Father!" He moved to keep from being barreled over by the pursuers.

Yes, things were back to normal…

* * *

**The End**

**Now, if you enjoyed the story, please be a kind reader and let me know:-)**


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